


Cogs and Bolts

by arysthaeniru



Category: Death Note
Genre: Gen, Navel-Gazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysthaeniru/pseuds/arysthaeniru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, they were both playing games that were too large to comprehend and no matter how much they tried to justify that they worked together to serve justice, they were just cogs and bolts in a larger mechanism that had no end. (Posted in dA on Dec 22nd 2012)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cogs and Bolts

It was raining again, Quillsh noticed, with stark annoyance. He was always taught as a child that rain was cleansing and prosperous, and he himself, when he found a bit of spare time, had always enjoyed a walk in the gentle rain. It was why he spent most of his time in England, rather than in any of the other countless countries he could be. But today, Quillsh knew, was the start of the Wammy's House orphanage in England, and rain was not an auspicious start.

It was not the first orphanage that Quillsh had set up or managed in his life, but it was certainly the first one with the purpose of raising a generation of genii behind it. Quillsh threw his gaze backwards, where his young charge slept. It was a rare enough thing that Quillsh wouldn't disturb it. The boy was nine years old and already indispensable as a force of justice in the world.

L.

Quillsh almost laughed, but didn't. He wondered what the police forces of the world would think about themselves if they knew that they placed all of their hopes on a boy of nine years old? Yet…it was a sobering thought and one that was slightly cold. It was truly an empty world if even children had to be called to war.

But, this was hardly the first time in Quillsh's life that children had been called to war, and on all occasions, like L, they always rose to the challenge and they always did it willingly. He had done it willingly, oh so long ago as the bombs fell down around London. Quillsh would not call L naïve, for the boy that gazed out of the world with dark, cynical eyes; who saw the scourge of humanity, day in and day out, without fail, was hardly naïve. But he was young and he knew nothing but this life; he didn't know what he had given up.

And wasn't that why this particular orphanage is Winchester was being opened? To make sure that one day, a much older and wearier L would be able to pass on his title to another so that he could live his life normally and that the world would not fall into collapse without him?

Quillsh saw the boy turn restlessly in his sleep, his closed eyelids twitching with the unseen dream behind it. The boy was as much of a mystery to Quillsh as he was to the rest of the world. Quillsh had met the boy when he was eight and L had helped him stop World War III and the Mad Winchester Bombings, but L had told Quillsh that he had been shifting from orphanage to orphanage for two years.

Quillsh didn't know what happened in L's past to leave him an orphan, but L refused to talk about it, deflecting the topic elsewhere most of the time, or flat out ignored Quillsh's requests for L to talk about it. All Quillsh knew is that it left L with a crippling sense of guilt and duty to continue being a detective to serve the world, to atone for something that Quillsh could not see.

The topic made Quillsh's hands twitch and he reached for his watch. He'd modified his watch so many times that he couldn't even remember how many different purposes it now served, but it was perhaps the biggest stress reliever for Quillsh, one of the most successful inventors in the world.

He saw gaps in the world and made sure that gap was plugged. Was that not why he moulded L into what he was? He'd seen a hole, an absence of justice and he'd filled it with L. Now he was trying to manufacture more goods to continue to fill that hole after the prototype became outdated.

It was a cold way to think about the young child that had made his way into Quillsh's heart, in a way that no other person had ever been able to, but emotions were not supposed to get involved with experiments, and was that not what L was? An experiment? An experiment that had appealed to the heart of his creator and was now lodged there for all eternity, but still, just an experiment.

Watari laughed lowly. He was perhaps an abominable human being, but he was the world's hard worker, the one who dealt with the dirty secrets of the world when they didn't know how to deal with it. He scavenged on the floor, he served and he lied and he betrayed. Quillsh Wammy wasn't even sure if he counted as human anymore. Watari was a servant, an automaton, nothing more. A servant for the child of justice.

It was all he deserved. He'd killed so many in the name of queen and country (though it had been king when he'd first started his long hard toil, back when he was not much older than the boy who lay sleeping in front of him). Quillsh Wammy was no stranger to hard work and no stranger to dirty deeds. If a boy of nine had to be put to work in solving the world's sordid affairs, so be it.

If L lost his humanity along the way…well, Watari would take that responsibility solely upon his shoulders. If L became as flat as the letter on the screen, Watari would take full responsibility for that (and if Quillsh Wammy protested, he was cruelly strangled in the back of Watari's mind.)

Watari was drawn sharply out of his thoughts by the sounds of rustling as his young charge awoke. He glanced down at his watch, which is still working despite half of its insides being gutted. 5 hours and 26 minutes, a new record indeed.

"Is the young master wanting anything?" asked Watari (for Quillsh Wammy only existed in the early hours and late afternoons when he was alone and allowed to indulge in pointless musings).

"Some coffee, if you don't mind, Watari." said L sleepily, in Russian, the language that he had been speaking before he had dozed off.

Watari had long since trained himself to not protest that coffee is not really suitable for a young boy, as it was bad for the body. L was not a boy; L was a machine, as was Watari. Instead, he went to his little coffee machine at the side of the room and started the process of grounding the coffee beans, which filled the room with the aroma of rich Arabica.

"Today, the orphanage accepts its first student, does it not?" asked L, this time in English, as he rubbed his eyes and blinked, owlishly.

"Yes, and the newest arrival, Jennifer Trevarthen, from Scotland will be arriving this afternoon." Watari said, as he poured the steaming water into the mug, ¾ full exactly.

There was a black, stained rim around the mug, from the countless occasions where the exact same amount coffee has been made, so Watari no longer has to check. The sugar and milk were poured in next and were given a quick firm stir, before being served to the boy, who had crawled over the computer desk where he searched the internet, his lithe bony fingers dancing along the keyboard.

He accepted the cup with a fleeting smile and his deep, unnerving gaze was focused once more on the screen.

"The American Government wish to lease your services again." Watari said, keeping his voice jovial but revealing nothing other than a faint humour. "I believe they've misplaced some rather valuable data and are willing to pay a rather hefty sum to get it back with full haste."

L looked up and pressed one of his fingers to his lips in consideration. "How careless of them," he said lightly, a slight disdain in his voice, "Was it in a manual format, or something rather more easy to trace?"

"Manual. If it were electronic or software, I am sure that they would have put the NSA on the case or the FBI. America has plenty of hackers and trackers at their disposal and they are rather protective of their money, I have found." Watari said, a smile quirking at his lips.

L nodded. "I shall be right onto it, Watari. I assume that you would have me greet the child when she arrives?"

Watari's only response was a slight tilt of the head, stifling the remark that she was only two years younger than L was. That would be a lie, for L didn't have an age, not while he still served his purpose. L was ageless, faceless and lacks desire. L was justice, a letter on a screen, and letters didn't have human characteristics.

L nodded. "I thought so. In that case, do tell me when she arrives? I have no desire to waste time waiting for her if I could be closing this tedious case."

Watari only nodded and smiled as he leaves the room. He knew that L would take this case seriously, as he does with all of his cases, but he would treat it with disdain.

It was perhaps a flaw that Watari would have to remove from the next generation, but L tended to have a habit of admiring those he ought to be fighting against, especially when they had an intellectual mind. He hated them all the more, but he spoke of those who posed a challenge, with a caress in his tone. If he were but a bit older, Watari would compare that tone to a lover's caress.

Watari glanced around the orphanage. Spotless. Good. It was a pet peeve of Wammy's, but he couldn't stand rooms that were in disarray or were unclean. He wasn't quite sure where it came from, but if Watari had to hazard a guess, he would say it came from the labs and bomb munitions factories where being spotless was the key to not getting blown up.

He glanced out of the large bay windows. The rain hadn't ceased. If anything, it had increased. That could pose a problem for the traffic on the M1. Watari reached for the rotary dial phone and composed the number of the driver that would be escorting Jennifer to Winchester.

"Mr. Wammy?" came the curt voice of Samuel Tennyson, a bitter man, who had worked too many administrative years as an underappreciated civil servant, before Quillsh had seen his talent for organization and hired Samuel to work for him.

"How is the traffic looking, Samuel?" he asked, his voice as comforting as he can make it.

"Bad, Mr Wammy. Looking at about a 2 hour delay. She won't arrive till the evening. She has a couple of books, but I'm afraid she's been complaining of being bored." said Samuel, sounding apologetic, reacting immediately to Watari's soothing tones, as most people tended to do.

"Well, I would ask that you hand the phone to Miss Jennifer, if you can." Watari said, as he made his way down the stairs.

"Hello?" she asked, her voice sounding slightly lost.

"Hello, Miss Jennifer?" Wammy said, and she gave an affirmative hum. "I've been told that you're rather bored, so I'll leave you with a little riddle. A professor thought of two consecutive numbers between one and ten. Person A knows one number and Person B knows the other. Person A says that she doesn't know B's number. B says that he also doesn't know. Suddenly, A says that she does know. What are the possibilities of numbers and how did A figure out what B's number was?"

The girl took a deep intake of breath. "Umm, sir, I don't know."

"You don't know now, but I am told that you have a long wait ahead of you. This may help a little in easing the boredom." Wammy said, and she was silent. Wammy merely smiled and placed the receiver down.

"Mr Wammy!" came the dulcet tones of the Norwegian steward that Watari had picked for the orphanage. Magda, the brusque yet kind lady that Wammy had met Sweden and rescued from a rather stick predicament about embezzling the prime minister or Sweden. Someone so efficient and so observant would have been a waste rotting away in prison, after all.

If Watari hadn't been an automaton, he thought that their story might have played out like some sort of fairytale where the maiden fell for the rescuer. But this was real life, and they'd met when they were forty, which was never romantic, and he'd had a job, a purpose in life which she'd have only served as a distraction and a liability (and if Quillsh Wammy protests that love can be found anywhere, he is ignored). She was now a tool at this orphanage. It would be good for her and for poor, broken Jennifer, who would be remade in the image of justice itself.

"Yes, Magda?" he asked, letting the warm, grandfatherly smile settle on his face.

"We are missing a few towels and sheets that will be necessary to host some of the teachers. May I take the permission to take one of the cars out to Winchester and purchase some?" she said, her voice slightly weary.

"You needn't ask me permission for that. You are in charge of the house's daily business. I am merely a visitor." Watari said, smiling, "Of course, you may."

She smiled tiredly and swept away, down the stairs. Watari followed her at a more sedate pace, and picked up the newspapers that lay across the front desk. The headlines read the same old news, nothing that would interest L too much, but Watari walked back up the stairs to bring them to L anyway, along with the hot sizzling pancakes covered in chocolate syrup and maple syrup, courtesy of the many chefs that Wammy had hired.

He was struck by how silent the whole place is. Wammy remembered the other orphanages in Delhi, Manaus, Lyon, Glasgow, Cape Town and Bangkok, and he remembered that there was always noise, no matter what time of day. Children were rarely quiet. He pitied Jennifer all the more and vowed to find another that matched the calibre of knowledge required to be L, faster.

He paused outside of the door. He had indulged in the thoughts of Wammy at an incorrect time, and he schooled his face and mind back to playing the role of Watari with some difficulty. He pushes the door open once his face is schooled into a polite smile.

"Breakfast, master L. And some newspapers." Watari said, clearing the desk of the loose papers that have managed to accumulate there in a fifteen minute time-span.

"Thank you again, Watari. Take a look at this footage. Is it just me, or has the American agent here, deliberately handed over the data to someone who isn't an agent?" asked L, looking somewhat amused.

Watari glanced at the screen. Already, L had managed to hack into the CIA's camera feeds. Fifteen minutes. The efficiency rate of L was improving. Or, this case was simply so dull that L was speeding through it. "Yes, I believe that is the case. Corruption, I presume?"

L nodded, and assimilated Watari's opinion into his deductions, before tugging his arms around his knees. Watari usually left him alone when he gets pensive, so Watari made to leave.

"No wait, Watari. I meant to ask you something." He said, his face contorting a little. Watari nodded and L looked less like a machine in that moment, less like the letter on the screen. The boy, L Lawliet sat before him, uncertainty and worry etched over his facial features, in a way that Wammy or Watari had never seen before. "This girl… do you really think she'll be able to replace me?"

Quillsh Wammy knew that the answer was no. No one would be able to replace the unique identity that is this small boy, and while she and the others will try, they will eventually fail, because no one could replicate his exact mental thought processes. They would succeed his letter and they would maintain his reputation, but they would never be able to replace him.

However, this was Watari's time. Wammy's times were the pensive moments alone or the quiet indecisive moments before something terrible occurred. And Watari knew that L was a prototype, L was a machine and that all machines were replaceable—

"Yes. I believe that she will uphold your reputation and serve for justice."

In the end, he chosde a mix of both messages. A mix of both truths, that somehow seemed more hollow than either of the simple statements. But, wasn't that what he was, what L was? A strange, hollow version of two truths meshing together in a manner that didn't quite fit?

L nodded. His face was nigh unreadable, but his jaw was set in a firmer manner and he seemed somewhat resigned. "I see. Thank you for your insight, Watari. Shut the door on your way out, please." The uncertainty was gone, replaced by a smooth, inscrutable mask of serenity.

Watari followed instructions and walked out, with a nod to L as he left, ignoring the wrench in his heart from Quillsh Wammy. L could and would be replaced. If not by Jennifer, by someone else. Watari also knew that his role will be taken by another. He was not worried, not truly.

In the end, they were both playing games that were too large to comprehend and no matter how much they tried to justify that they worked together to serve justice, they were just cogs and bolts in a larger mechanism that had no end. The legacy of L would live on, perfected with every coming generation until the idea of flaws at all would have been forgotten. (And if Quillsh Wammy protested that sometimes flaws were required, Watari would sharply push him away, as was the norm)


End file.
